


Observed

by mansikka



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23002111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: A look at Malex through various POVs
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 188
Kudos: 120





	1. Furniture Store

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lieselfh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieselfh/gifts).

> For the lovely Liesel!
> 
> Liesel, as per my vague-ing in DMs, this is now over to you... this is what all the questions about names and food etc have been about! If you can think of any scenario where you want an outsider's POV on Malex, then come tell me. This is your fic, and if you feel the need for Michael and Alex to be observed in an M&M store, then, well, let me know, and I will write ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

The couple trying out the deep, green couch at the end of the store is the kind of couple Rick can't take his eyes off.

It isn't, really, because they are pretty, though there is no mistaking _that_; one dark-haired and the other soft curls that the first has run his fingers through at least twice already, the former in tight blue jeans and a short grey t-shirt while the latter has a mostly-unbuttoned plaid shirt that Rick has tried, and failed not to look at. Or more accurately, at the chest beneath.

Nor is it because they are trying out so _many_ couches. Rick has watched them try the high backed red velveteen one, two black leathers, and a mustard-colored two-seater that they had both _oofed_ for sitting in because it is so low. Personally, Rick likes the thick, plush, multi-cushioned orange one they have just dragged themselves out of. It is the one _he_ has just ordered for his apartment, already rearranging the lounge in his head.

But as this very beautiful couple make their way over to yet another couch—a deep, rich purple one that almost swallows them—Rick thinks the reason he can't stop watching is that they are _so_ in love. Happiness radiates from them wherever they are in the store. They can't keep their eyes—or hands—off one another. Not in a too-much-PDA kind of way, but as in they are so _thrilled_ to be together. The kind of love that Rick would be wistful for a taste of his own, but is the sort that is a once-in-a-lifetime love that only few really get to have.

As the store assistant files some paperwork in the back, Rick continues to watch them, the curly-haired one slinging his arm casually around the first one's shoulders, happily tugging him into his side. The dark-haired one Rick is sure mouths _our new home_ at the other before kissing him, which is worrying; is he really paying so much attention to these strangers that he can lip-read them from halfway across the store?

"Newlyweds."

Rick startles for Robin, the store assistant serving him, returning to her side of the desk while nodding towards where the couple is sat. She lets out a soft laugh as she follows his gaze. The happiness radiating from the couple is contagious. Rick can see it in the corners of her eyes.

"They've been in here _two hours_," Robin adds, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Apparently they've just moved into a new place. Getting everything new from scratch."

Rick doesn't mean to follow the tap of Robin's finger against a list on the counter, or read upside down the name _Guerin_, but he does, and having at least a surname to pair these beautiful people with makes him feel connected, in a way. Even if he feels a little silly for being so nosy.

"Well. Please offer my congratulations," Rick says before he can stop himself. Robin only smiles, passing him a pen to sign his paperwork with.

"Kind of makes you believe in love, don't they? Just watching them together? Like two puzzles pieces finally fit?"

That is exactly how Rick feels. He smiles in the Guerin's direction even if they are too engrossed in one another to see, then leaves the store with a spring in his step just for being in the presence of that much love.

* * *


	2. Sushi Bar

Mila stares at the couple sat by the window as they organize their just-delivered sushi on their table, trying not to smile as hard as she is. But how can she not, when they are providing the best entertainment she thinks she's ever had over lunch?

Mila came into her favorite sushi restaurant after a hellish morning tackling spreadsheets, deciding that she deserved a treat. _They_ were here when she slid into her usual stool at the bar in the middle of the restaurant where others on quick lunch breaks always eat. Their names are Michael and... something. She doesn't know the other one's name because _Michael_ keeps calling him _Mr. Guerin_, so blatantly ecstatic for the ring he's clearly recently put on the man's finger that it should be sickeningly sweet. He keeps squeezing over his finger, looking at the ring on his own with so much awe Mila is _sure_ there is an epic story to accompany this couple. She would love to _ask_, but she doesn't have that much time left on her break. Besides, just asking would be _rude_.

_Michael_ is currently feeding _Mr. Guerin_ a tempura roll with his chopsticks, winking with the filthiest smirk when his _husband_ takes it in his mouth. The man chews in thought, his eyes becoming big and startled as he starts making huffing noises the moment he has swallowed.

"Too much wasabi," Mr. Guerin says with a hint of a whine in his voice that, really, should not be as adorable as it is. Only it _is_ adorable. Mila tries not to be so amused by the way this Mr. Guerin _pouts_ earning himself a kiss of apology. Clearly _Michael_ thinks it's cute as well.

"Sorry, Darlin'."

"How'd you get so good with these things?" Mr. Guerin asks as he picks up his chopsticks with nowhere near as much finesse. Micheal picks up the piece of seaweed he has sent flying from his plate and pops it into his mouth.

"You know me. I lived on takeout for a while."

"Really?" Mr. Guerin seems so _upset_ by the idea.

"_No_," Michael says, snorting, layering up a rainbow roll with far too much ginger and wasabi, putting the whole thing in his mouth not even _flinching_ for the dance of flavors no doubt bursting on his tongue. "I helped out in that restaurant near the Crashdown sometimes. When Sanders didn't have much work. Free food. Lot of practice."

"I can't even get my _fingers_ right," Mr. Guerin protests, and when Mila looks, he has his foot hooked around Michael's beneath the table. Like he doesn't know how _not_ to be touching him.

Michael carefully positions Mr. Guerin's fingers so he can pick up a spicy tuna roll, kissing him on the cheek in reward when he gets the sushi in his mouth.

"See? You're doing _great_."

Mr. Guerin hums with what sounds to Mila like pride as he chews, holding his hand up for Michael to slot his fingers through against the table.

In between these constant kisses is such sweetness, and joy, and laughter, that Mila thinks she could happily watch the couple all day. Though a quick glance at her phone tells her she needs to be back at work. Quickly Mila scoops up the last of her sushi and leaves enough cash to cover her meal, then rushes out of the restaurant. As she passes them by at the window, Mila smiles for the couple attempting to feed one another, failing, and kissing yet again.

* * *


	3. M&M Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely Liesel on her birthday! Happy Birthday! 🎁 🎊 🎉 🎂 🥂 🍾 🥳 🎆

Tom has seen _everything_ there is to see as an employer at the Las Vegas M&M store. He's had bachelor parties come through here with part of the celebrations involving trying every flavor available until they're sick, and birthday parties that have broken out in fights over the best colors. _Adult_ birthdays; Tom finds that birthday parties for children are far more polite. Tom likes the customers who are obviously here for the first time, who walk in and look around the store in awe. He likes the kids whose eyes are as round as saucers trying to take everything in, the parents sneaking extra M&Ms into their own mouths while the kids aren't looking, and all kinds of people in between. People are the _best_ thing about his job; Tom doesn't think he could say that anywhere else, and he has worked in a _lot_ of retail jobs.

Some people even come here for _dates_. Tom remembers once watching a teen couple spend almost a full hour sampling their way around the store, hand in hand and so cutely loved up that it was adorable to watch. Though no couple Tom is sure has ever looked quite like _this_ couple he's been watching for the past fifteen minutes. They're _gorgeous_, for one, and excited to be here for two, but there is something _else_ about them as well. He can't quite put his finger on what.

Their names are _Michael_, and _Alex_. Tom knows this because they have each spelled their names out with M&Ms, along with making heart shapes, and alien faces, and writing words like _cosmic_. Also ruder words that Tom doesn't think were for anyone's eyes but theirs. They are blissfully unaware of anyone else around them as they pose for selfies with Red and Green at the front of the store, and Michael makes Alex double over with laughter as he puts on the voices from the latest commercial (which Tom thinks is the best yet).

Tom hasn't _meant_ to overhear them as he has refilled, re-stocked, and served around them. Though he knows they are on a road trip in an Airstream, that yesterday night they went up the Stratosphere Tower after dinner, and that after here they're heading to the Container Park. And that they are next heading for the Grand Canyon. He also knows they are one of those couples that are really _meant_ to be together. It is in the way they gravitate toward one another even when only feet apart, and the joy on their faces every time they catch each other's eyes. Tom presses his thumb into the back of his wedding ring and smiles. Maybe _that_ is why these two have his attention. _Michael_ has curls a little similar to his own only a shade or two lighter, while Alex looks a lot like Ger, his husband of three years. Ger, who wants the two of them to go to Big Erns BBQ at the Container Park tonight, and is only called his full name, _Geraldo_, or _Jerry_ by his abuela. Everyone else gets that a _Tom_ dating someone named _Jerry_ is only hilarious the first four hundred times they have it pointed out.

Michael and Alex, they have a look about them that makes Tom feel at home, and wish the day away so he can be with Ger. If just ten years ago someone had told him he would be as lucky in love as this couple, he'd have never believed it. Now, as he watches them _dancing_ in the M&M store as Michael sways Alex mouthing the words to the song playing, all he can feel is contentment. He knows their joy, and he knows their happiness, and life doesn't get much better than the simple one they have no doubt built for themselves. Like he has with Ger. He plans an extra soppy message to send to Ger on his lunch break as he watches them, reining in his smile as they kiss _again_, then begin making their way towards the counter.

Or not.

"The crispy ones are definitely the best," Alex says, popping one into Michael's mouth as he puts their intended purchases back down on a side.

"Nope," Michael says, pulling Alex in by the waist. "Has to be the coffee nut. Or the peanut butter. Or maybe even the caramel."

"_Crispy_," Alex insists, tossing a few into _his_ mouth before draping his arms over Michael's shoulders and leaning against him.

Michael watches him chew with a smirk, brushing their lips together once Alex has swallowed. "Well. Maybe on _you_ I might like 'em a whole lot more..."

Is there any time of the day when these two do _not_ kiss? Tom thinks as he tries to focus on the customers he is serving, instead of the most loved-up couple he has ever seen in his store.

They choose blue, blue lagoon, and teal colors for their personalized M&Ms, with double hearts and stars as the decoration. They also have several bags of flavored as well, two of which are crispy. Apparently Alex gets everything he wants, and Michael is delighted to be indulging him. And as Tom watches them leave, Michael throwing his arm around Alex's shoulders as he tucks into his side, he is _sure_ he hears him whispering how much he loves him into Alex's ear.

Tom can't wait for his break, so he can tell Ger exactly the same.


	4. Gas Station

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one comes from a suggestion by Jo Carthage! Thank you! ❤️️

"Did you know that there are at _least_ ten species of aliens living right here on planet Earth, Alex? Like... living right where we are?"

For the amused tone in her customer's voice, Denise looks up from making her grocery list for after work, looking toward the racks of magazines just beyond the end of her counter. She watches a dark-haired man approach, who she presumes must be _Alex_, coming to stand to the side of a man with beautiful curly hair. The man in question throws his arm around Alex's shoulder kissing him on the temple, and from the angle they are stood at and where they are, Denise assumes they are looking over a magazine. Probably the new issue of something like the National Enquirer, or Popular Science, or something, judging from the subject they are discussing.

"Aliens. Right here," the first man says again, with even more depths of amusement in his voice. It's a little _arrogant_, Denise thinks, always finding those who dismiss the idea of alien life a little too cocky and sure of themselves. Though for the adoring way Alex is looking at the man, he can't be _all_ that awful.

"Really," Alex says, sounding just as amused, the restroom key dangling from his fingers. Denise forgot it was him who'd asked for it, which is silly. It isn't as though this gas station is overrun with customers, especially at the nondescript hour of around two on a Tuesday afternoon.

"Yeah."

"What are they _doing_ here, Michael?"

"Well. According to this," _Michael_ says, gesturing at the magazine, "they could be hiding out in lakes and oceans."

"Like in The Abyss?"

Denise loves that film. Loves Ed Harris, actually. She'll have to see if it's on Netflix when she gets home.

"Yeah. And maybe like, all of the Nordic countries have 'em. Says here, _Nordic_ _aliens_ look just like _us_. Little far-fetched, don't you think?"

_Nordic aliens_? Denise thinks. _Michael_ has to be making that one up.

"Izzy's blonde."

"_Isobel_ isn't blonde like this though," Michael says, turning his head as he studies the magazine closer. "She's more yellow blonde, than white. And by the way. How are you the _only_ person in the history of anyone who gets away with calling her _Izzy_?" he adds with pure indignance on his face when he turns to look at Alex. He's _cute_, Denise thinks, watching the way his curls bounce around his face.

"Brother-in-law privileges," Alex retorts with a wink that Denise can't help smiling for, watching him draping an arm around Michael's waist. Michael smacks a messy kiss to his cheek in answer. These two like kissing a lot, huh?

"Not fair."

"What about these ones?" Alex says, bending down to look at the page they're on. "Sirians?"

"From the Sirius B star system, apparently. Is B for blue, or something? Or is this guy just _really_ cold?"

Alex laughs, the movement making him loosen his grip on the string holding the restroom key. Michael grabs it with lightning reflexes before it can hit the floor. "Thanks. So. What does it say these aliens are doing here? Invasion? Stealing minerals?"

"Honestly, I think these guys are trying to say they just have regular jobs. Accountants. Lawyers. Car washers. That kind of thing."

Doesn't that sound _dull_, Denise thinks, imagining that if she were to visit another planet, all she'd really want to do is explore. Also to find whatever the local version of pets might be. Hopefully not something with too many legs.

"Well. That doesn't sound like much of an invasion," Alex says as Michael puts the magazine back on the shelf and straightens it up.

"If it was _me_, I'd probably just go on a really long road trip," Michael says, which is when Denise realizes it is probably this couple's Airstream parked up outside. What else hasn't she noticed today? It must be time for more coffee.

"I _need_ Pringles," Alex says, and when he turns so she can properly see his face, Denise realizes that he is cute too. Very cute. What a treat for her to be able to watch these two in silence on this otherwise boring afternoon. Who says working at the gas station has to be dull?

"Flavor?"

"Sour cream."

"Alex," Michael says then with false sorrow in his voice, resting a dramatic hand over his heart. Denise stifles a giggle for it.

"What?"

"There are no crispy M&Ms. Just peanut and regular."

"We're waiting on delivery," Denise blurts out then immediately begs the ground to swallow her. Now they know she's been watching. "Sorry. I really wanted some earlier and realized there were none in," she explains quickly to cover up her mistake.

Alex smiles at her while Michael winks, the double impact of which does something very weird to Denise's stomach. And throat. She quickly takes a mouthful of the Coke she's been drinking so long it is now flat, and tries to keep busy.

"Peanut."

"Yeah, Darlin'?"

Alex _snorts_, snatching the bag of Peanut M&Ms from his hand. "You know what my favorite aliens are?"

"_Please_ tell me it's Venom."

"Okay. Second favorite alien," Alex says, toying with the display of air fresheners and holding a pine-scented one against Michael's nose. Michael bats it away, grimacing.

"_Lemon_. Please."

"There are _lemon_ aliens? Flavored, or shaped?"

_Please_ stop being so adorably cute, Denise thinks, panicking. It's fine from a little distance away but up close, she has no control over how hard she is smiling. Thankfully, they seem far too lost in one another to really notice anyone else. She rings up their purchases and takes back the restroom key, as Alex and Michael debate what kind of fruit they might find on other planets. Denise holds her tongue, desperate to join in the conversation. Not that she's put much thought into these things, obviously.

"Antarans. Antarians? Should there be an _I_ in there?" Alex says after they have thanked her and are walking away.

"I've no idea."

"They're my favorite aliens. One in particular," Alex adds, slipping his hand into Michael's. Michael _beams_ at him, opening the door for Alex as they make their way out.

Denise watches them walk back to their Airstream hand in hand, sighing as they drive away. She is tempted to go look at The National Enquirer, or whatever else it is they might have been reading, though is then interrupted by a customer coming in to pay for their gas. Denise is distracted throughout the whole sale. She really needs to know what is so special about aliens from _Antar_.


	5. Bar

The guy up on the stage is unfairly attractive. Tight grey tee which also looks so soft paired with skinny, skinny black jeans that leave little to the imagination. Dark brown hair that is just asking to be messed up, and a glint in his eye that is just _sinful_; even from where Carl is stood behind the bar. He is _gorgeous_; everyone here in the room is drawn to him. So far three customers have tried to order from Carl only to be thoroughly distracted by the sight of the man on stage. Carl gets it. He's messed up orders twice already just for looking at him.

The man, who is holding that microphone in a way that is just _indecent_, only has eyes for one person in the bar. A curly-haired man sat at a table about three back from the stage on the back wall, who can't take his eyes off _him_, either. The smug smile on his face that says the guy singing is all _his_, well, is understandable. Even if Carl is sure half his patrons would happily punch it off his face. Maybe him included. Which isn't _nice_. But that's just how it is.

Carl tries to turn his focus back to the customer he is serving, setting them up tequila shots along the length of the bar. It's a birthday party, and every member of that party is just as distracted by the man singing as he is.

"How do I get him to sing to _me_?" asks one woman who Carl thinks is named Jessica.

"He can just _look_ at me. Hell. I don't need talking," says another, turning a leery eye on the stage. Evidently neither of them has noticed the object of the man's affections beaming up at him from where he is sat.

When the song ends, the man on the stage, who Carl learns is called _Alex _from the sheet people sign when they want to sing_—_like one of his two _cats—_receives a raucous round of applause. Mostly from his _person_, who stands up, clapping obnoxiously, hooting and hollering across the bar. The kiss he gives him is literally obscene when Alex joins him, pulling him so close that it is hard to tell where one begins and the other ends. Much to the disappointment of half the bar, apparently, judging from the collective groan, whose enthusiasm, while partly for Alex's singing, is mostly because of, well, _him_. He is _beautiful_, Carl thinks, catching himself staring and very thankful for the next order he receives, just to distract himself.

Or not.

"Hey. Can we get two more beers?" the curly-haired object of _Alex's_ affections says, smiling at Carl as he comes up to order.

What. A. Dick. Which is not what Carl should be thinking about a customer just because the person he's with is unnaturally stunning. His _husband_, Carl realizes catching the glint of ring on his finger and having to brace one-handed against the bar as he composes himself for how deeply his stomach has dropped. Disappointment creeps in to drape itself around Carl's shoulders. He tells himself to snap out of it, putting on his most cheerful, polite smile.

"Sure thing."

"Great bar you've got here," the man says, his fingers curled over the edge of it as he looks around.

"Thank you."

"It's your place?"

"Yeah."

"Nice."

Okay, Carl thinks, looking the curly-haired wonder over, maybe it's _him_ who is the dick. The man is genuinely happy to be here, and the looks he keeps giving over his shoulder back at Alex shows just how loved up he is. It's _cute_, really. As is _he_ now Carl is taking a better look at him. Huh.

"Keep the change," the man says when he hands over some cash, winking at Carl, which puts both a wibble in his knees and a nervous burst of laughter on his tongue. Which, thankfully, at least Carl hopes, is drowned out by the next person up on the stage starting to sing. They are no Alex, unfortunately, both in terms of great singing voice and even better looks.

Carl tries not think about Alex again as he goes about his evening. He tries not to notice how affectionate he is with his husband, how they talk and laugh and just _fit_ together like they are made for one another. It's not often Carl sees couples quite like that. Maybe it's because he is hurting; he'd thought he'd found an Alex but in fact had been seeing a _Chad_. And _that woman_ before Chad, who Carl still sees around sometimes, who leaves him feeling like someone has kicked him in the gut every time they make eye contact. She had really, really broken him; and his poor heart. Which is probably how _Chad_ happened. Is it any wonder Carl feels a lingering sense of misplaced resentment when looking at this _couple_, when he has always been a disaster when it comes to love?

"Hey. Can I sign up to sing again?"

_Brain freeze_. Carl almost swallows his tongue for having _Alex_ stood in front of him, that beautiful smile up close actually stealing his breath. "Uh. Sure, Yeah. Uh... yeah, go ahead," Carl says, stuttering and fumbling over himself as he pushes the list towards him.

"Thanks. It's a great place you have here."

"Thank you. Your, uh, your husband said you liked it."

Alex turns to look at said _husband_, with an even softer smile. "Yeah. he does. I'm trying to convince him to sing as well, but I don't think there is quite enough liquor behind there to make him," Alex adds, gesturing behind the bar with his pen before he signs his name. _Guerin. Alex Guerin_.

"I think he's just enjoying watching you. You're _good_," Carl blurts out because he isn't thinking, and his non-thinking brain is an idiot. Dammit.

Alex is _embarrassed_ but still smiles at him with a soft thank you before ordering two more beers, and rapidly returning to their table.

"Do you have coffee?"

Carl turns to his left to see a woman with long brown hair shoved up in a bun that probably a few hours ago looked neat, though now has strands sticking out everywhere. She looks exhausted, but she has the kind of smile that Carl can't help return.

"Uh. Sure? I can make you coffee, at least."

"Literally saving my life," the woman says as she hops up on to a stool and practically falls forward across the bar.

"Tough day?" he asks while setting up the coffee machine which takes a little coaxing since it hasn't been used in a few hours.

"I just moved in a block or so from here. Unpacked most things; realized I didn't have so much as a _coffee bean_ in. My head's doing that buzzing, fuzzy thing it does when you need caffeine. Hate it."

Carl watches the way she jabs at her own forehead going cross-eyed in the process and laughs. "That mean you need an extra shot?"

"_Please_."

"Not worried about not sleeping?"

"I don't have time for sleeping until maybe about a week from now."

Carl nods in understanding even if he thinks she is probably exaggerating at least a little. He hopes so, anyway.

"So. I'm Sarah, by the way," she says, offering her hand out to shake, which he takes, noticing a long scratch up the back of her hand.

"Carl."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Where's that from?" he says, nodding at her hand.

"Carly. A demon cat who doesn't approve of moving house," Sarah says, pulling her phone from her pocket to show him a cat that is about 70 percent fluff and 30 percent fury. Carl is in love already.

"Here's my two," Carl says, whipping out his own phone to show her pictures of Felix and _his_ Alex, grinning proudly when Sarah gushes over his babies.

In between serving customers, Carl learns Sarah is new to the area, and a veterinary assistant starting work in the morning, who hates all forms of sport and exercise yet loves to rollerblade, which apparently doesn't count. They have a debate on what she should watch on Netflix when she gets home since the coffee is going to keep her awake anyway, and she'll be at work in a matter of hours as it is. Which is interesting logic to Carl, who really, really likes his sleep.

Carl and Sarah are so engrossed in their conversation—currently about what the world might be like if populated with giant-sized tuxedo cats—that it is the sound of Alex up on stage announcing, "_this one's for_ _Michael_," that even reminds Carl he was lusting after the man in the first place. Alex's smile is adoring, and every lyric of the song as he sings _means_ something to him and _Michael_; Carl can tell.

"Now _that_ is one beautiful man," Sarah says as she follows Carl's gaze to the stage.

"_Yes_."

"That's his man?" Sarah says, nodding towards Michael. It's easy to tell since half the bar is shooting daggers at Michael for having all of Alex's attention.

"Husband."

"Nice. Think they're cat people?" Sarah asks, making grabby hands when Carl waggles the coffee jug at her for a top up.

"Definitely dogs."

"What a _waste_," she says, stealing all of Carl's attention by telling him about an orange cat she had in her last surgery, and how she can't wait to start her new job.

Carl might even change his veterinarian practice, just so they can continue this conversation...


	6. Bookstore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by PinkSparkleUnicorn! ❤️

Estelle loves her job. She loves the people, the smell of the place, the literally infinite universes contained on all the shelves around her. She loves stock take and sweeping hard wooden floors, and sneaking a glance or three at customers trying to guess what genres they like best. Estelle is in heaven working in and managing this bookstore. And as the only bookstore in the area, with lots of loyal customers who come for books old and new, Estelle thinks she will be lucky enough to be here for _years_ yet. Screw capitalism.

Today is no exception. The tiny customers choosing their first books for learning their first words, the tired students whose faces light up when older editions of their over-priced textbooks for college are in the second-hand section; every customer that has come through the doors of Estelle's bookshop today has added to the smile on her face. Even the grumpy ones. Especially them, actually, for seeing whatever tension their day has given them drop a touch just for reading a few words.

_These_ customers, though, Estelle thinks as she gives them her practiced discreet once-over, they might be the most endearing she has seen so far. As they peruse the shelves, they softly call to one another, or reach out to touch a hand, or arm. Which is no unusual thing; casual affection seems to come easy here in the bookstore, people leaving all their woes and troubles outside. But there is something special about this couple, something that radiates peace, and contentment, and _happiness_. They're also _gorgeous_, which helps. Which isn't to say she doesn't have Dana at home, and Estelle doesn't only have eyes for her. Dana would agree. Hell, Dana would probably sneak pictures of the two of them. Her girl is _sneaky_ like that, and far better at taking photos than _she_ is.

Anyway. Dana will no doubt want to hear the details of these really, _really_ cute customers. In fact, she will text her now. Warn her that she has a story to tell her when she gets home tonight. Estelle sends the message quickly, keeping her ear strained for what this couple is talking about now. Because there have been some _interesting_ subjects.

_Michael_ has just pointed out three errors about astrophysics in a book by a celebrity scientist who should really know better, much to _Alex's_ amusement. He kissed him in reward for his antics which had led to a soft, _"come here_," that, honestly, for the tone of Michael's voice, put the best kind of shiver down Estelle's spine for hearing.

_Alex_ has just picked up a novel in sheer disdain, right by its corner, flicking through with an increasingly derisive sneer. "Shit," he says as he turns another page a _little_ too briskly for Estelle's liking to be honest; it's a good thing he's pretty. "_Horse shit_," he adds, prodding his fingertip at another page.

Michael makes a sympathetic noise, wrapping his arms around Alex's waist from behind. "What are they doing?"

"It's just bullshit. You can't rescue a hostage by _rappelling _down a..." Estelle loses the thread of what he's saying for being so distracted by the furious look on his face. It shouldn't be as hot as it is.

"So. How about we put the offending book back, and find you some nice coding books to play with instead, huh, Alex?" Michael says, kissing his shoulder.

"It's just—"

"I know, I know," Michael agrees with the most fake sympathetic voice Estelle has ever heard; she _loves_ it. "The big, bad author didn't play with enough toy soldiers—"

"More like, didn't speak to a _single_ person who has actually _served_," Alex retorts. He's a _vet_. Well. Estelle knows her usual, torn respect that she feels about the military as she looks Alex over. Respect for the individual, though not for the organization as a whole. Which is a thought for another time.

"Okay."

It is _adorable_ the way Alex squeaks, trying to spin away from Michael's tickling hands. It is even more adorable the way Michael holds the offending book just out of his reach, and it turns into a smooch fest that it is hard for Estelle to snatch her eyes away from. They have _no_ idea that there is anyone else in the building, or probably even left on the planet, for how lost in one another they are. It's beautiful.

The bad book eventually gets slotted away, with Michael and Alex adding a couple more books to the small pile on the end of the counter. Apparently, they are spending a couple of weeks in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, taking nothing with them but food, and books. Which sounds _idyllic_ to Estelle.

"What's that?" Alex says when Michael starts saying _no_ repeatedly with the softest tone of voice, pressing his face into Alex's shoulder when he comes to stand by his side.

"I read this thing, over and over, when I was in the group home," Michael says, showing Alex the front of the book. Estelle tries to peer around them to see, and can't. And _group home_? she thinks, wanting to charge around her counter and give Michael a hug. Even if she isn't sure for what.

"What is it?"

"The [Velveteen Rabbit](https://americanliterature.com/author/margery-williams/short-story/the-velveteen-rabbit)," Michael says. Oh _no_. Not _that_ story. That story always leaves her in tears.

"Would I know it?"

"Maybe? It's by Margery Williams. Here," Michael says, pointing to something on the page. "This bit _always_ gets me."

He's not going to _read_ it, is he? Estelle thinks, bracing against the counter when it turns out yes; yes he _is_. Help.

> _"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"_
> 
> _"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."_
> 
> _"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit._
> 
> _"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."_
> 
> _"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"_
> 
> _"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."_

_Dammit_. Now she's _sniffling_. Estelle discreetly clears her throat, watching Alex take Michael in his arms and hold him tight. They are murmuring something to one another that seems far too private; even for the eavesdropper that _she_ is. But they are smiling when they pull apart, so it must be something good.

Alex takes Michael's hand then, holding on as he looks around the shelves. "Well. Since you're reading to _me_..."

Holy _hell_, Estelle thinks, slumping hard into her chair when Alex starts to read. She'd know that poem anywhere; though, who doesn't know all of [Pablo Neruda](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49236/one-hundred-love-sonnets-xvii)'s work off by heart? Or is that just her?

> _"I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_
> 
> _Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off._
> 
> _I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_
> 
> _In secret, between the shadow and the soul..."_

Estelle hears the rest of the sonnet, sort of, mostly lost by the endearing look on Michael's face as Alex reads to him. Has she ever seen _anyone_ look that in love? Estelle is sure the answer is _no_.

"You gonna read to me in our cabin, Alex?" Michael asks when he finishes, his voice so _effected_ by Alex's reading that Estelle is half-convinced he might have Alex up against one of her bookshelves right here in the store. Hell. She'd _let_ them. She'd slip out the front door and put the _back in five minutes_ sign up. Maybe change it to an hour. Who knows how much stamina these two must have for being so loved up?

Estelle keeps her face as neutral and friendly as she can when Alex and Michael come to pay for their purchases, still unable to keep their hands off one another, and smiling so much it makes _her_ face hurt for echoing it. And they're _married_ she realizes for seeing their rings, now desperate for them to leave. She _has_ to message Dana about all of this right _now. _It won't wait until after work.

Estelle is still smiling after them when they walk out, standing on tiptoe as she watches them pass by the window outside. She is sure they will continue putting smiles on the faces of everyone they pass, wherever they go.


	7. Buffy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter was suggested by ViscerallyLoumen!

She is a good girl.

She knows this, even if her family had to surrender her when they moved away. Even if she has now been in this loud, busy shelter for more sleeps than she would like, and even a wag of her tail in welcome doesn't quite catch anyone's eye long enough to take her away from here.

She is patient, and quiet, and always does her best to be kind. Even with all those angry barks around her all day long. Especially with the nervous-sounding ones who are even more confused than she was when she first arrived. Some are poorly, and others just frightened of their own shadows. Some are even scared of the handers who are so gentle with them, giving tummy rubs and treats for taking baths, and even chasing them around the yard outside when they have time. She tries to show her gratitude for all of them, because she can see how much love they have to give.

She isn't old, not really, though she knows from the looks on faces that to take a dog that isn't really a puppy anymore takes a special kind of love. And she is patient, something else she is sure some of those around her haven't learned how to be yet, or have forgotten for being so afraid.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, when the sun comes up, she is going to meet her new people, who are going to love her so much they won't be able to contain their excitement at getting her home. She has promised herself this every time the sun goes down for however long she's been here, and will keep on promising the same, until her time comes. Because someone, surely, is going to come in here soon, and be able to love her enough?

* * *

"Hey, girl."

She wags her tail for the soft voice calling to her, stepping closer to get a sniff of the extended hand. He smells like _protection_, and _safety_. The bars on her enclosure make it possible to get her whole snout into it, earning her laughter and the crinkling of kind eyes.

"Oh, you are _beautiful_," the man says, splaying his fingers so she can really sniff him, and when she lets him, stroking his hand over her head. He is down on one knee, the other turned at a not-quite-right angle; She can tell with a sniff that he is one of those people with a not-natural leg. Instantly, _she_ feels protective; what must this sweet man have been through to lose his limb?

"Michael," the man calls, just as gentle in tone as he has just been with her. Another man approaches, crouching down beside the first, the smile on _his_ face adoring when he looks at her.

"Oh. Alex, she's perfect," _Michael_ says, holding his fingers out for her to sniff. He smells good, too; homely, and caring. She likes these two already enough to know how easily she could fall in love.

_Alex_ braces a hand against Michael's as he leans, looking at the chart on the side of her enclosure. "Been here two months. Good with other dogs, great temperament, no illnesses. Looks like her owners moved across state; couldn't have a dog in the new apartment building."

"Well, that sucks. Who could give you up, huh, girl?"

It wasn't their fault, she wants to say, even if at first, she was convinced she'd done something wrong. Or that there was some kind of mix up, or something; she doesn't know. But she doesn't hold a grudge, either. Especially when she is here getting strokes and attention like she hasn't had for so long. She leans into the warm hands on her flank, and wags her tail when they play with her ears. It makes her _happy_. And if they let her, well. She has every intention of making them happy too.

"What do you think?" Alex says, biting on his lip while smiling, taking Michael's hand when he stands. _They_ have a very special kind of love for one another, she can tell. Michael is a little different to Alex; she thinks he is from far away from here. But here is where his home is, because _Alex_ is here. She likes that.

"I think," Michael says, slinging his arm around Alex's waist as he bends again to stroke her head, "you need to be thinking about _names_."

"Buffy," Alex says without hesitating. _Buffy_ likes it a lot.

"Okay, Alex. Hey, Buffy," Michael says, toying with her ear again, "you feel like coming home with us?"

* * *

Buffy needs a _rest_.

In between going with Michael to work at his scrapyard, being fussed over by everyone in the cafe Alex was sat in when working, and being fed on the quiet by Arturo and Liz at the Crashdown when they went for dinner, Buffy has had a busy day. And _Isobel_ just left their cabin, who needed a little of her company after a really long day herself. The two of them had sat out on the porch as Alex made them drinks, Buffy offering the comfort of her company until Isobel was smiling again. Buffy loves having visitors, and all the places Alex and Michael take her. But there is nothing as special to her as the three of them home together alone.

"Did she sneak on to the couch already?" Alex asks with amusement in his voice as he and Michael return from waving Isobel goodbye. Buffy peeks an eye open but mostly pretends to be sleeping, sighing and stretching when her two favorite people in the world come to sit either side of her.

"Of course," Michael says, the three of them piling together as they so often do. Michael has his arm thrown around Alex, and Buffy is half-between them, half-sprawled over their laps. As it should be. _This_ is what it means to be home.

Buffy has lived here in the cabin with Michael and Alex for a little while now, though feels it much longer that she has been a part of this family. They _adore_ her; Buffy is the luckiest girl in the world. She has two beds, four blankets, more toys than any dog would know what to do with, and all the cuddles she could want. And Michael has this special trick where he can toss a ball for her without even moving. She'll work out how he's doing it one day, Buffy is sure of it.

Buffy gets to sleep on the couch, and even their bed sometimes, though not when the door is closed. When it is, Buffy knows to retreat to the living room and keep her ears elsewhere. They seem to enjoy whatever it is they do in there together, and Buffy gets the impression it is something she is not meant to see. Humans can be very strange sometimes.

But these two, Michael and Alex, the love they have for one another is like nothing she has witnessed before. They have a way of talking that doesn't involve words, even though they also talk a lot. They dance together in the kitchen at sleepy hours of the morning, and individually when cleaning the cabin and there is no one else to see. Their laughter is always joyous and filled with affection. They are _happy_; it is the kind of happy that comes from belonging to someone. Buffy knows exactly how that feels now she has _them_ in her life.

Sometimes, when Michael or Alex have had bad days, their moods when they walk in are red, fuzzy, and angry. The moment they see one another everything begins to shift, their shoulders relaxing, and their entire posture starting to change. And when they hug, that red fades away to a soft, warm yellow, that is peaceful and comforting, and filled with love. It is the best feeling. Buffy loves being here witness to it, and how it breathes peace into every room.

Like now. Buffy rests her head against Alex's knee, her belly turned to Michael since he has the _best_, warmest hands, and over her they are _kissing_, whispering sweet words that Buffy pretends not to hear for those strange human endearments that are probably not for her ears anyway. Not that she minds. Buffy knows safety, and comfort, and what it means to be loved. Just like Michael and Alex feel, for having one another. Is there any better way to live, but this?


	8. UFO Emporium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by acomebackstory! Possibly not quite what you had in mind but... an attempt was made?
> 
> So... the POV this time is an unsuspecting UFO enthusiast from Indonesia on a tour of America.

Budi is lost. A _little_ lost. At least, he might be. Sarah is going to be so mad when he makes his way back to the tour bus. When he _finds_ the tour bus that is. This is _supposed_ to be a trip of a lifetime. They _were_ beginning their retirement together in style. They _are_ doing; at least, they will get _back_ to doing when Budi gets himself... unlost.

Sarah is going to argue they get back to the _typical tourist places_ that she's been talking about ever since they planned this trip. And they will do, it's just... as some who has _always_ been fascinated by UFOs, they couldn't come to the United States, and Budi not see _Roswell_.

Budi has been to all 23 supposed UFO crash sites in Indonesia, several of those in Singapore, and has every intention of exploring Australia's UFO sites as well; throwing in a detour to the Sydney Opera House and Uluru to hopefully keep Sarah happy. He has a few more to sneak in here as well besides Roswell; though Sarah won't put up with his amendments to their itinerary if he keeps getting himself _lost_.

The question is, where should he go now?

With his numerous souvenirs from the UFO Emporium tucked under his arm, Budi makes his way down towards what might be the crossroads where their bus turned off to park. It isn't there. He walks to the end of that street, and then the next one, taking a detour down another that looks _interesting_, before finding himself back at the Emporium. He's going to have to admit defeat. He's going to have to _call_ Sarah. Oh no.

There is a couple stood outside the Emporium. Young, he thinks, and married, according to the rings on their hands. Two men. They seem very comfortable with one another. Affectionate, even. It is at times like these that Budi wishes he had listened to his wife and learned at least a _little_ English for their holiday. He has no idea what they are saying to one another, and, more importantly, he doesn't have the words to ask them for directions. Not that he'd know what to say, of course. _Have you seen my tour bus that I forget the color of, that might be a Nissan, though could also be a Ford?_ No, that wouldn't do. All Budi can do is admit defeat, send a _text_ because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself, then wait for Sarah to get the bus to come back.

As he waits, Budi studies the couple, just discreetly enough so they won't notice him. Hand in hand, they look over the Emporium with a look that is _fond_. Is it a memory? Amusement? Do they like UFOs as much as him? Budi doesn't know, though does know embarrassed laughter when he hears it; from the curly-haired one who is clinging to the other by his waist. Why is he laughing so much? What is _that_ look on his face? What is he saying that is making the dark-haired man lean against him with a smile that says he's won a prize? And why is _he_ watching? Budi asks himself, mildly mortified that he is being so nosy. Doesn't Sarah always accuse him of such? Though what else is he supposed to do while he waits?

Visit the Emporium again; that's what. Budi sneaks in behind the couple waving the ticket he'd purchased earlier, the salesperson waving him in without more than a glance. Budi loves it in here. All the details of the Roswell crash that has fascinated him for so much of his life. Were there really aliens in those discs? He hopes so. He hopes they made it home again.

This time in the Emporium, it is a little like seeing the place with fresh eyes, for the couple he is lingering a couple of places behind. Their voices are softer here, so even if he _could_ understand English, Budi wouldn't know what they were talking about. Though also, he would, possibly; it is easy to tell this is a couple deeply in love, relaxed, content in their world. They haven't let go of one another yet.

Fresh embarrassed laughter erupts from the pair then; this time from the dark-haired man. The curly-haired one points at something on the wall while the other covers his face with one hand, while clinging to the front of the curly one's shirt. And that _tone_, Budi thinks, surely he recognizes that; it is the tone he uses to tease Sarah affectionately with, so she knows it is done with love. Or maybe it isn't only the tone; the curly one has a _look_ of love on his face that is impossible not to recognize. It's _sweet_, Budi thinks. Even if gay couples aren't something he sees every day.

When they move along the display, Budi _has_ to see what they are pointing at. To his astonishment, the photo is of the dark-haired man. _Alex_. Working in that booth where the unenthusiastic member of staff currently is. _Amazing_.

Budi keeps watching them, sure as they explore the Emporium they are not only looking at UFO memorabilia, but at photos of _Alex_. Alex must have grown up here, but did the curly-haired man too? That would be... something. Budi thinks they must have been in love a long time, so supposes it possible.

Budi's attention is taken then as Sarah texts him; apparently, the bus left too early, and there are three members of their tour including him that are stranded. She is sweet with him, so Budi thinks she won't give him _that_ look that tells him he's an idiot, and instead will give him the softer one that says _I missed you as well_.

But what to do in the meantime? The couple he's been watching appear to have disappeared; Budi suspects to an area of the Emporium he has no business going. Which he might just do anyway; he is nothing more than a curious tourist. What is the worst they can do to him?

Budi slips behind a curtain and, sure enough, the curly-haired man and Alex are there. _Dancing_. _Smiling_. So lost in their memories, discussion, and teasing of one another that _he_ might as well not be here at all. He doesn't know what it means when the curly-haired one squares his shoulders, like he is rehearsing a speech. And Budi doesn't understand why the look Alex gives him back is so enamored. But he knows love, and then he knows _kissing_, and... _oh_. Maybe he shouldn't stick around to see _that_ development. Is it the UFOs making them so amorous, or something he doesn't have a clue about?

Budi makes his way back out, stood in front of the Emporium as instructed by the tour company through Sarah, waving to someone he recognizes from the bus, and knowing relief for it. This is where they are to congregate, apparently. And with someone to speak to in Javanese, Budi feels less _lost_. Who knows how long they might have to wait?

As the tour bus rounds the corner, Budi sees _Alex_ and the curly-haired one step outside looking very pleased with themselves. They walk away from him at a leisurely pace with their arms thrown around one another, their happiness palpable; even as they disappear from Budi's view.


	9. Cafe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This one was suggested by cocktail-in-an-abattoir on Tumblr.
> 
> Our POV this time is from a man named Dave who has some _views_ on gay people that aren't... ideal. Let's just say that Malex are powerful enough to make even mildly bigoted people like Dave change their view of the world!

It's just _impolite_, isn't it. Dave is not a _bigot_, or discriminating against any kind of people, or anything like that, thank you very much. It's just that you keep things like _that_ behind closed doors, don't you. He would rather not see _any _couple be all over each other while he's _trying_ to eat his breakfast on his day off, thank you very much. _Homosexual_, or otherwise.

Yet here this couple are, blatant as you please, sat in the corner of _his_ cafe looking like they're about to _go at it_ right over the table they're at. When, for starters, _these_ tables? Dave's been coming to this place for about six years now. They'll be lucky if that table holds their coffee cups, let alone their whole _bodies_.

That's why they're in that corner, isn't it, Dave thinks, growing more and more agitated, shifting in his seat and telling himself not to look. It's probably what these people think of as _being discreet_. Though that one with the outrageously curly hair wouldn't know discretion if it sat in his lap and introduced itself, Dave is sure of it. Shirt half-unbuttoned and all that skin on display. He can see his _chest hair_ from here. _Please_, Dave thinks, giving a quick glance at the other one, _please_ don't get any ideas.

Dave worked with a man like _that_ before once. Kept his desk very clean, had a very strange obsession with Post Its, and hell knows the man couldn't sit straight in his damn chair. _Stuart_, he was called, always gushing about his _partner_, and if not his _partner_, then their _cats_. That's one thing about _these two_, Dave supposes. At least they have a _dog_ with them instead of a cat. Dave didn't even know dogs were allowed in this cafe, if he's honest.

Anyway. If _this couple is about to—_

The tidier-looking one of the two is _wincing_, looking like he's trying to get away from his own leg. Their dog is looking up at them anxiously; if they're about to cause a scene, Dave is going to rescue their dog from them_. _But as he keeps watching, Dave knows a _little_ guilt for realizing the man is actually in pain. Which he wouldn't wish on anyone.

"Look. I know you don't want to. But you _fell_, Alex. We need to _check_. Okay? I don't care if I have to piggyback you the entire way back to the truck."

_Alex_ grits his teeth letting his head bang back against the wall, cursing just loud enough for Dave to hear. _Language_. And _then_, Alex is turning in his seat, _draping_ himself over Michael. Well. Dave has now seen _everything_. He'll be having the words with the manager of this place if this debacle continues for much longer.

"Gonna let me look?" Alex is asked. Well that is _it_; that is—

"_Fine_, Michael," Alex says in irritation, then giving him a look that says _sorry_.

Dave watches in morbid fascination as Michael rolls back the leg of Alex's pants—grey sweatpants. What is the obsession with grey sweatpants all these kind of people seem to have? Though that question is for another time; Michael keeps rolling back the pant leg as Alex looks on through gritted teeth, sagging in relief when Michael does something to his calf. To his...

Oh.

Dave watches Michael carefully lay a prosthetic lower limb, complete with a sneaker, on their table, the sneaker hanging over the edge. He sees Michael encourage Alex to bend his knee, tenderly looking over his leg. Even from here Dave can see Alex's stump is a little red; probably from continuing to use it when it was already sore. He must be _so_ uncomfortable, Dave thinks, feeling a wash of sympathy for Alex. Even if he is one of _those_ people.

"You know what this means," Michael says, carefully adjusting Alex's leg over his lap.

Alex closes his eyes, thumping his head back against the wall. Don't do that, Alex, Dave wants to say, for imagining a headache forming. "Can it involve liquor?"

"It can. Much, _much_ later. But before that."

Dave drops his head for the urge to laugh for the pout on Alex's face.

"You're going to get my stick from the truck, and I can't complain about it, because I should have brought it with me in the first place," Alex says in the most sarcastic dry tone imaginable. Dave kind of likes it.

"I _am_ getting your stick from your truck," Michael agrees, encouraging Alex to lift his leg so he can stand, then helping him lower it across the seat. "I'll take less of the tone, though, I think."

Alex sighs, sulky and petulant, though he is smiling as he looks up. "_Fine_."

"Buffy's gonna keep you company."

"I'll be fine."

"Yeah. You will. 'cos for the _rest_ of your day, you're gonna let me do all my husbandly duties—"

_Please, please not here_, Dave thinks again.

"—and let me take care of you, Alex," Michael continues, running his fingers through Alex's hair. Which... okay, Dave thinks, there is no harm in _that_. He doesn't have a problem with people showing _affection_.

Alex sighs again, small and defeated. "Okay, Michael."

"I'll be back in five. Okay?"

"Don't rush. It's fine; I need to finish this," Alex says, raising his coffee mug.

"Okay."

Dave watches, discreetly, as Michael bends to kiss him on the forehead, and then again as he turns to speak to _Lucinda_ who is serving currently, gesturing to their table. Dave hears her cluck in sympathy, and has the urge to ask what happened. Which he won't. Not unless the opportunity arises, of course.

"I'm okay, Buffy," Alex says when Michael has blown him kisses from the doorway which Dave _would_ find ridiculous, if they hadn't made Alex smile so much. _Buffy_ sits up, nosing at Alex's leg, and, Dave thinks, dropping her head on his thigh, her tail wagging like she's trying to cheer Alex up. Dogs always are the best companions.

"Think we can tempt this little girl with some ham, and a bowl of water?" Lucinda says coming around the counter.

Buffy is beautifully trained. She is aware of the ham, though only sits up attentively, waiting for Alex's signal to take it.

"Thank you," Alex says softly, watching Lucinda lower a bowl of water to the floor. "You have a friend for life now. I think she would actually sell her soul for a little ham."

Lucinda fusses over Buffy then goes back behind the counter, immediately washing her hands. Thoroughly. It's one of the things Dave likes about this cafe; the cleanliness of everyone back there behind the counter.

"Need any painkillers, or anything?" Lucinda calls out to Alex.

"No, thank you. Michael will bring some," Alex says, nodding towards the door.

"What did you do?"

"You mean today? Or _this_?" Alex says, grabbing his prosthetic and turning it. Dave doesn't know what expression is on his face, but he thinks it might be regret, and frustration, and also perhaps even a little fear.

"Whatever you feel like sharing."

"Well. _Then_, an IED. _Today_, I was attacked by an out-of-control stroller and a toddler. I lost."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. It'll be fine," Alex says, looking down at his leg with a groan Dave can hear all the way across the cafe.

"He's going to _fuss_ over you all day long, isn't he?" Lucinda asks nodding towards the door which must mean _Michael_. It's nice, really, Dave thinks, that Alex has someone to care for him so much.

"All day? More like all _week_," Alex says with a soft laugh. "We're taking a road trip for a couple of weeks. He's already been _fussing_ about me keeping my leg elevated. Won't even let me drive. And that was before I fell."

"He sounds like a keeper."

Alex lifts his hand up waving his ringed finger in pride.

"Good for you," Lucinda says, beaming at him.

"Thanks."

"I met my husband when I was 22," Lucinda adds, which has Dave doing math; is she 30? 35? 40? It's so difficult to tell.

"Seventeen."

"You've been together since you were _seventeen_?" Lucinda repeats, with an expression that Dave thinks she is about five seconds from saying _aww_ at. They're _people_, not _puppies_.

"Well. It was a _little_... let's just say, it took us a while to get here. Mostly because I was serving." Alex has a wistful though proud smile on his face. Why is Dave so _interested_ to hear this story? It's not like he can ask for more details.

"Long-distance relationships are _hard_; even when you're both in the same country. I can't even imagine."

Michael appears then, flushed like he's been running, brandishing a crutch that Alex looks at in disdain. "It's either _this_," Michael says, out of breath as he joins him, "or I throw you over my shoulder. Your choice, Alex. Hell. I'll even bridal carry you out of here and all the way back to the truck, if that's what you want."

"This is just fine," Alex says, and in a gesture Dave thinks means he is willing to accept help, holds out a hand to be tugged to stand. Michael steadies him at the waist as he slots his arm into the crutch and shuffles away from the table. Michael pulls a bag that was sticking out of his back pocket and lays it on the table, slotting the prosthetic inside.

"Doing okay?"

Alex smiles at him, nodding, and _oh_, Dave thinks, here we go. Here's when we get one of those displays that is going to turn his stomach, make his bacon repeat on him for the rest of the day. He braces for it, surprised that when Alex kisses Michael, it is just a soft, sweet thing, accompanied by an equally soft, _"thank you_," and nothing more.

Oh. The world didn't end, then. Huh.

As Michael settles up their bill, and Alex takes hold of Buffy's leash, Dave watches this _couple_, wondering what he was expecting to see that was so _offensive_. Alex's hand rests gently on Michael's back, their affection so easy, and natural, that Dave can't find a single thing to be upset about.

Perhaps there are things he needs to be rethinking about the world around him.

As Michael and Alex pass his table with Buffy, Dave wills himself to say something; anything at all. He wants to say something like _thank you for your service_, or at least words that sound important. What comes out instead is this;

"You have a beautiful dog."

Alex and Michael pause, looking down at Buffy like proud parents; just like Dave does with _his_ dogs.

"Yeah," Michael says, adjusting his grip in Alex's waist, "and she _knows_ it."

Buffy looks between the three of them with eyes that say, _pet me_. Which Dave does. Her ears are silky soft, and her tail thumping on the cafe floor is definitely a hello.

Alex smiles at him as they are leaving, waving goodbye to Lucinda when she calls out. And Dave, well. He has some things to think about this morning. He finishes his breakfast with a smile, wondering about what to do with his day now that he has eaten.


	10. Caulfield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Okay, so, technically this chapter should probably come before all the others but it's here for now. In case it isn't obvious immediately, this one is the POV of Michael's mum. It's still soft, though obviously a little sad given the circumstances!
> 
> This is from a suggestion by ViscerallyLoumen!

He is loved. Her son knows love. It is the only hope she has clung on to in her life here. Here, in this prison so cold and sterile, with only a tease of the possibilities and hope outside.

_Michael_. That is the name he has chosen for himself here, or had chosen for him. It _fits_. She doesn't know why, hasn't had the opportunity to learn the meanings behind names on this planet. But she does know her son when she sees him, and that the name belongs to him.

And that _Michael_ belongs to someone else. A man who is looking at Michael with such fear, and such horror, as though he will sacrifice himself just to keep him alive. It will take a sacrifice to get Michael out of here. Her son is determined, and stubborn; a family trait he has taken from her, she thinks.

Though how to make him leave? All that hope that has kept her alive for all this time, all the silent dreaming of how her child would look, and act, and think as he aged, all will have been for _nothing_ if he lets himself get trapped inside. He cannot save her. She knows the methods used to keep these doors closed, and that all the hammering and screaming and begging to get through to her will be fruitless. She has to make him want to go.

_Oh_. Oh, she hears what _Alex_ is doing, trying to coax Michael to leave. And she hears _Michael's_ terror, that Alex might _stay_ with him to die by his side. Her heart breaks as she feels Michael's break for the lies he tells. His heart is for no other but this Alex, whose heart is thrumming in time with Michael's own.

There is love, _so_ much love between them, and anguish too; it is an agony to feel even an echo of the ache between them that has grown and scarred over, constantly tearing open and rehealing as time has passed. But Michael loves him. Loves Alex. Deeply, and desperately. She has to get them both out.

_Run_ she sends him, along with all the love she can. She has practiced, prepared for this moment, to send Michael a blast of affection so he will _know_ she is sorry she had to leave him alone in the world. She feels an echo of siblings, so knows renewed hope that Michael hasn't been completely on his own here away from her. But it is Michael's love for Alex that is the thing she must anchor to if she is to convince him to leave her behind.

_Go_, she whispers, sending more loving thoughts, and trying to send them to Alex, too, so that _he_ knows her gratitude for him loving Michael. It is both reassuring and devastating to watch the way Michael clings to Alex, falls against him when he accepts he cannot get release her from her cell.

These two, they have hardship ahead, and difficult conversations they'll need to get through. But she knows, deep in her soul, that they _will_ get through. So as she watches them leave, sends more loving thoughts to her son and his partner, she can accept what is about to happen, and know that her life hasn't been a total loss. Her son is loved, and needed in this world, and there is someone who will always support him, no matter what. Is there anything else a mother could ask for?


	11. Clothes store

"Wait. I—I _can't_."

For the _snort_ of laughter that follows, Zach looks up from his newspaper while on his break in the backroom behind the counter to see a curly-haired man doubled over, his hands resting on his thighs. To his side stands another man; beautiful, _gorgeous_, actually, made even more so for the delight in his smile. His hand rests on the other's back as he too bends a little, trying to coax him to stand. Zach cranes his neck to keep looking as he mumbles something; all Zach can see is this curly-haired man's shoulders trembling as he continues to laugh. This clothes store hasn't been this entertaining all morning; it's nice to have a bit of life about the place.

"Michael—"

_Michael_, it seems, is in hysterics, laughing so hard it has turned partly into a cough. His face is red when he finally gets upright, back-handing tears from his face as he gasps. It is probably good that it is such a quiet morning in here, Zach thinks, for imagining some of the snooty looks some of their other customers might give them.

"All I _said_ was—"

It's no good. Whatever the beautiful man is trying to say has sent Michael back to his fit of giggles, this time while clasping on to him, and snorting his laughter into his shoulder. Everything goes still between them for just a few seconds before Michael is _exploding_ with laughter again. Zach wants to know what the joke is or if it's the kind of thing that is only funny if you hear it at the time. Or a private one, which it most likely is for the look on Handsome Man's face. Michael's _husband_, apparently, judging by the ring on the hand to the back of Michael's hair. Zach imagines his curls must be so _soft_.

"Are we good?"

Apparently not. Michael's hands bunch tightly in the back of his husband's shirt, and his laughter is so infectious that said husband is laughing with him, pressing a kiss to the back of his head. Zach's break is over now, so perhaps as he comes back through to take over serving, he'll be in on the joke. Or at least get a better view of the couple. Who could blame him for wanting to look? _Look_ at them.

"Look. Izzy's gonna _kill_ us if we're late," the husband says, squeezing Michael then trying to get his attention. "And she'll kill us even more if you show up again without a _tie_."

_That's_ all they came in here to buy? Zach thinks, indignant on behalf of the rest of the clothes in their store. This is a high end, quality menswear store and should be treated with at least a little dignity. Or at least, c'mon, they should let _him_ know what is so damn funny.

"I could've just borrowed one of _yours_, Alex," Michael says, finally getting a grip on himself. And on Alex, now wrapping his hands low on his waist. How can Michael go from being so giggly to looking like he and _Alex_ might need a moment alone?

"Didn't you tell me my ties were all too skinny and _emo_ for you?"

"I like them when _you_ wear them," Michael points out with an indecent once-over of Alex with his lip trapped between his teeth. Zach _grins_ for seeing it, trying to keep his thoughts from wandering. Though this _Alex_ is very, very much his type; at least, in Zach's dreams he is. For the way Alex hasn't yet taken his eyes off Michael, Zach knows there is no one else in this world that would stand a chance.

"That's _different_," Alex says, while _winking_ at Michael. What. A. Tease. _Damn_.

"I like them even more when we use them for—"

"Excuse me. I'm looking for cufflinks; do you stock them?"

Zach tries not to give his new customer a withering look for interrupting whatever Michael was about to say to Alex, and then gives himself an internal kick for being so nosey in the first place. He serves her, extra polite even as in his head he tells her to hurry up and just choose something already, watching Alex and Michael as they work through the store's selection of ties.

They are _cute_. They must be in the first few months of marriage or just be one of _those_ couples who don't know how to keep their hands to themselves. Hands trail over backs, arms, even asses as they peruse the ties, which provide even more entertainment. Michael wraps one around his head like a bandana reciting words from what is probably a movie Zach has never heard of, while Alex takes a furry-looking one and pretends it is a mustache. And then both of them pick up ties with the same color and pattern, nudging and smirking at each other telling Zach there is a story here he should probably not dwell on too much. Something involving a blindfold, that much is sure, judging from their antics. Zach tries to get some order to his face for how hard he's been smirking for watching them when they come to the counter to pay.

He's supposed to upsale. Zach should be pointing out the selection of shirts that would go perfectly with the tie Michael has chosen; black with a light blue chequered print. But Zach doesn't; what would be the point when Michael and Alex are stood here making eyes at one another? Right here, while Zach is trying to _serve_? They look so happy, he can't even get mad about it.

Zach watches them leave, Michael kissing Alex on the shoulder as he slips his hand into his back jean pocket, head thrown back in fresh laughter as they step outside. Zach laughs himself, hoping for more customers who are just as happy, thankful for this little bright patch in his otherwise uninteresting day.


	12. Sheriff Valenti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was suggested by Roseglass! Just a short one this time!

Michael Guerin is _trouble_. Michelle Valenti has known this since long before he started gracing her drunk tank. She has also known he is the kind of trouble he is through no fault of his own. Not much of it, anyway. There is still residual guilt in her heart that Michael spent most of his teenage years living in a truck, and she did nothing about it. Underneath that cocky exterior she knows he has a heart of gold. He is much like her Kyle in a way, not that either one of them would like that comparison, so she keeps it to herself.

Alex Manes is _also_ trouble, in his own kind of way. He can outsnark just about anyone he has a conversation with, and that steely stare has made many a person duck their head just to avoid it. Her guilt about Alex is second-hand, for knowing her son's childhood friend became the person he flexed his bullying muscle on when Alex probably needed him most. She is glad they have reconciled as adults, the two of them together just as mischievous across her dining table as when they were kids.

Though together, officially as the Guerins since Alex shed the name Manes the second he could, Michael and Alex are some of the sweetest people she is lucky to know. When Max had a sore throat last week and insisted on working, Alex came by to drop him off lunch and more cold supplies than there was room for on his desk. Michael she often sees hanging off roofs and porches of older people in the town fixing gutters, loose tiles, and just about anything else. Michelle knows they volunteer at the group home Michael used to be a resident of, and that they both will be incredible parents when they eventually have kids. They are good people, great members of their community, and some of the kids she is most proud of watching growing up.

They are also ridiculously entertaining just to _watch_, as she makes her way around the grocery store and sees them on another aisle.

"Not that one. _That_ one," Michael is saying; Michelle hears a bag being dragged into their cart.

"You know that one makes her fart," Alex replies, his voice tinged with laughter. Michael doesn't really answer, only smacks a kiss to his cheek that is loud enough for her to hear. "And you know Isobel will let her on her bed to sleep."

Buffy, Michelle thinks, picturing the Guerins' beagle?

"That's her call. Not like she doesn't sleep on our bed."

"Yes, but we never feed her _that_ before she does. We gave her that _one time_ and it—"

"Stank the place out," Michael finishes for him with sheer glee in his voice. "Like rotten eggs and offal. _Worse_."

"Is there any particular reason we're stinking out Izzy?"

"No reason," Michael says, and Michelle can see him from where she is standing, catching _that_ gesture that says _I am innocent_ that means anything but. Alex must be smiling at him for the way Michael's face breaks out into a smile of his own. He accepts Alex's kiss then throws an arm around his shoulder, steering the cart as they move along the aisle.

"Toothpaste?"

"In the bag."

"Shampoo?"

"Also in the bag," Michael says; Michelle thinks she remembers Kyle saying Alex and Michael were going away for the weekend, which would explain Isobel taking Buffy for them. She does _not_ catch what Michael says next and for the way the two of them look at one another she is _glad_.

From the glimpse she gets at their cart, wherever their weekend is, it will be indulgent. There is fruit, some fancy-looking wine that she would not have thought either of them would drink, ingredients for a meal that scream romance even from her quick peek, and a ton of other things that are treats as well. And from the sounds of things they are setting off for wherever they are going straight from here, which she has confirmed when she looks out the window for seeing the Airstream in the parking lot. Are they just taking a couple of days for themselves in that? Probably. Sometimes Michael wonders about getting an Airstream of her own to do the same.

They are really in love. Michelle can't help sitting in her car watching the Guerins make their way to their Airstream after buying groceries, so joyous in each other's company that she can't help but smile. Michael has his hand shoved in Alex's back pocket as Alex steers the cart, and as they walk Michael presses kisses to his shoulder, telling him something that has Alex throwing his head back with laughter.

They are a _team_. The easy way they unload all their purchases taking them into the Airstream, returning the cart, and just the simple way they walk back through the parking lot; this is a couple that was _made_ for one another. Michelle smiles as they climb into the truck after Alex has bunched his fist in Michael's shirt to kiss him yet _again_, hoping one day that Kyle is lucky enough to love someone just as much.


End file.
